


Tokyo’s killer smile

by myoue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon - Manga, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myoue/pseuds/myoue
Summary: Once a year they get together in Tokyo to hang out whenever Oikawa comes back. But they won't admit they miss each other like crazy.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Tokyo’s killer smile

**Author's Note:**

> i come here sometimes!

It’s a shivering winter night in Ginza some hours after Oikawa’s plane lands. He has the brilliant idea to arrive fashionably late on purpose because he’s not expecting this get together to be that big of a party that those there would miss him all that much, and if he’s the first one there he wouldn’t know what to do with himself anyway.

Luckily he overstays his time sitting in a coffee shop in a completely different district across the city before coming to the realization that he’s not as familiar with Tokyo trains as he thought he was. It takes him longer than he expects to figure out where he is. He’s endlessly confused about what train is labeled what and which platforms are where, and the constant texts he gets from Makki and Kindaichi keep annoyingly blocking the view of his maps on his phone, bombarding him with what’s taking so long, if he’s gotten himself lost. _No :(_ Oikawa stops resolutely in the middle of a busy stairwell to text back, _I’m taking the scenic route, obviously_.

It’s a group chat so he sends off the one response.

Tokyo streets are narrow, tending towards claustrophobic at times, and Oikawa feels like he can’t properly enjoy the glittering holiday lights lining the shops. He doesn’t remember it being this cold in Japan. Surely it wasn’t this cold back in Sendai? His breath fogs up the screen of his phone as his fingers jitter across the maps.

At his unnamed destination, there aren’t any markings except for a single black door and “sushi bar” written in plain carved-out katakana. _Is this it?_ Oikawa fires off in a text and then begins walking down the laneway again.

 _Is what it?_ That’s from Makki, sent after a speedy three seconds.

 _Where is this place?_ Oikawa hums frustratingly, staring back and forth between all the lit up storefronts on either side.

“That was it.”

A hand catches his elbow and Oikawa turns into it, looking back behind him towards the voice, his breath coming out in a warm puff once he realizes who it is.

“Oh.”

Iwaizumi stands next to him with his phone out in front of him opened to the group chat. His jacket is open to a tucked in shirt and tie, and he’s hovering on the spot. A single exasperated breath comes out of his mouth, eyebrows knitted together as he looks at Oikawa and Oikawa looks away because he knows what’s coming. “Could your messages be any more cryptic? _Is this it?_ How the fuck are they supposed to know what you’re standing in front of?”

Oikawa heart shudders, wondering why people who move to the city suddenly dress better and look so cool. He shrugs up into his shoulders. “Uh… uh… I dunno,” he stumbles around the words, less embarrassed and more ditzy than anything. Iwaizumi is so used to it, he’s rolling his eyes. “Are you late too?” Oikawa asks innocently.

“No, I was already here, you shit. Now get your ass inside. I’m freezing.”

“Okay!”

Oikawa dodges a kick to his calves and rushes around Iwaizumi towards the darkened stoop of the restaurant. He feigns a scared look that only gets a look of annoyance from Iwaizumi, but he opens the door to the sound of a tinkling bell, and Iwaizumi follows very closely behind him down the very narrow and uneven stairs.

“We almost thought you weren’t coming,” Iwaizumi tells him honestly.

Hearing that surprises Oikawa and he wants to retort something harsher back, something more offended, because he is a little offended, but he restrains himself, staying lighthearted. “Of course I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“You just might.” That makes Oikawa's teeth clench, smiling crookedly, and he wants to smack Iwaizumi just for saying that. He really hasn’t changed at all in the gruff in the way he talks. Iwaizumi says, “We always come here because it’s not so busy. Although we didn’t really think about how hard it would be for you to get here.”

“You didn’t think about me? Not at all?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says bluntly.

Oikawa lets out a half-laugh. “You’re such a liar.”

He can feel Iwaizumi behind him, the chest, sleeves of his jacket, nudging into him, coaxing him hurriedly through the open doorway to the restaurant at the bottom of the stairs. It’s almost too much. Nervous energy. Jittery.

It’s brighter inside than he expects for a basement to be and it has a clean kind of warm, not overly stuffy. Almost clinical. He can feel the tips of his fingers instantly heat up, the tip of nose burning too, as he spots their group around one of the tables already stacked with empty sushi plates. Iwaizumi’s jacket has already been zipped off and he’s suddenly got an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders leading him over, calling out to the group next to his ear.

“Ayyyyyy.”

“Yeahhh.”

“You guys don’t sound excited at all to see me!” Oikawa protests, holding onto Iwaizumi’s arm until they get to the table, not quite letting go of it until they’re both dropped into their seats beside each other.

Glasses clink.

“Kanpai!”

“Kanpai!”

It isn’t all that special of a reunion because after initial catch ups, conversation quickly devolves into sporadic thoughts about dramas, complaining about subjects, professors, exams, and who’s dating who. Although, this is all news to Oikawa who’s a year behind everything so he mostly contents himself with listening and making the appropriate sounds of surprise and awe. He’s really missed the taste of sushi more than anything so he nibbles at the delicious fatty tuna.

They all slap him on the back at the end of the night with a promise to meet up again soon, before heading off in different directions once they get to the main street. Oikawa waves at them before turning to Iwaizumi just putting out his lit cigarette into the nearest ashtray. Oikawa grimaces at that. That’s the one thing that’s changed after all this time.

“It’s the stress,” Iwaizumi explains, seeing Oikawa's eyes and not wanting to comment on it further. Though, if it really is stress, he’d always been able to handle it well before.

They hang back after everyone else has long gone. There's something that keeps Oikawa awkwardly rooted to the spot, waiting until Iwaizumi comes up with something to say first. On some level it might be petty and lazy of him, but he convinces himself it's more akin to letting an elder speak first. He doesn't want to be the one to take off first. It’s only when Iwaizumi asks where Oikawa’s hotel is that he pipes up, "Oh!" before smiling sheepishly, as if just remembering about that. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

He forces himself to start walking in one direction, looking up and down the spectacle of the street. The streetlamps have turned on, little pops of light along the way, clouded only slightly by the light snow that falls. But it isn’t too cold. Oikawa turns back around briefly, just to see if Iwaizumi is still standing there in the same spot, looking on at him. And sure enough, he is. 

Oikawa waves at him. "Bye!" he calls out, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction he’s going—quizzical smile. "I'll see you later!" Later, meaning who knows when. Iwaizumi doesn't respond.

He’d probably be able to figure out the route to the train on his own eventually even if it took him all night, once he actually remembers to take out his phone and use it. If Iwaizumi would just text him some directions. It isn’t actually too complicated. He only needs to practice with the complexity of Tokyo’s winding streets.

But before he can do any of that, before he can turn back around and continue on his way, there’s an interesting look of horror that suddenly crosses Iwaizumi’s face that Oikawa becomes fascinated by. It’s almost to the point of seething, an eclectic party of emotions all at once, coming scarily closer and closer and closer—oh, here he is. Iwaizumi stalks right up to him.

Oikawa feels dizzy with Iwaizumi’s face in his. “I’m wrong!?”

Iwaizumi is nearly on him, but it’s his glare that gets him. He spins Oikawa’s halfway-turned shoulder right around, then clutches him firmly by the upper arm.

And they start off together in the opposite direction. Towards the train, presumably. Because Oikawa is hopeless. Hopeless, hopeless. Iwaizumi might have become a broken record with his continuous swearing. He starts up his bad habit not even a decent fifteen seconds later.

-

“Knock, knock.”

Oikawa’s voice drowns out along with the knocking against door #4 and the pumping washes of various genres of music mixing together down the dimly lit hallway. 

Without waiting, he steps into an equally dim room, only lit by slowly changing neon lights that line the ceiling. It’s an eerie, soundproofed quiet once the door closes behind him.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even look up at him as he continues poring over a heavy book full of songs on the couch.

“You look so sad,” Oikawa says to him, setting his bag down on the other side of the couch. He feigns a look as he drops down next to him, crossing one leg over the other. “So very sad.”

“What?” Iwaizumi’s voice isn’t harsh, just distracted, as he flips the page.

“Two guys singing karaoke together.” Oikawa hums, looking around. The TV is muted, playing random commercials of orange juice and sandy beaches. “Well? Have you picked a song yet?”

“I just got here. If you want to order some food first, go ahead.”

“It’s okay. I already ate. Actually—do you want to share a milk tea?”

“Sure.”

Their order comes knocking at the door some time later, and Iwaizumi is still no closer to choosing a song. But for some reason he’s quick to jump at the sound before Oikawa can react, opening the door to get their milk tea in a tall glass with ice and a straw. He thanks the girl with short black hair and a nametag, telling him with a smile that if they would want more time to please use the phone on the wall to call the front desk. She leaves and Iwaizumi sets the glass down on the table before going back to the book.

“Wo-ow,” Oikawa says in two seperate syllables, picking up the milk tea to sip coolly at before leaning back with it against the couch. He lines his teeth with his tongue. “You got up so fast for her.”

“So, what?”

“Just that you didn’t even look up when I came.” Oikawa’s voice wavers up and down so it doesn’t sound like anything much. Iwaizumi had sat on the couch without any kind of thought, and Oikawa hadn’t expected any less.

“Because I knew it was you,” he says, predictably.

“How did you know it wasn’t Momo-chan?”

“Are you jealous of a girl that had my attention for five seconds?”

“Her name is Momo-chan, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s finger traces the front of his shirt pocket. “You go for the short-haired types. Didn’t even notice, did you? You always have. So, all I’m saying is—she won’t even look twice at you so don’t bother. In fact, she slipped something into the milk tea.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“You’re in denial.”

“Fine. Stop involving an innocent girl in your weird ideas.”

Iwaizumi finally seems to settle on a song choice because he picks up the TV remote to type in the song code, and the once deafeningly silent room fills softly with a lush melody. The lights, left on their own to cycle through a rainbow of soft colours, happen to transition to a light peachy pink at that moment, as if in divine coordination to the music.

“How romantic. Are you in the mood?”

“...Shut up.”

The milk tea is set back onto the table, all of it drunk. If something was slipped in it, he couldn’t taste it. But the drink itself was tasty. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t protest, doesn’t ask him how it tasted since he didn’t get any. He doesn’t move at all when the words to the song appear on the TV screen to a soulful background instrumental and backing vocals. “Aren’t you going to sing?” Oikawa asks.

He doesn’t really know what he's expecting. Iwaizumi is simple, even as Oikawa lightly kicks at the back of his heels with his toe, egging him to stand. Iwaizumi doesn’t react, sitting perfectly still with his arms crossed, like he’s thinking too hard about something. Come on, come on. Oikawa pouts. He wants to hear a lovely singing voice. He wants to hear Iwaizumi’s voice. He actually has no idea whether or not Iwaizumi even _can_ sing. But there’s some dirty part of him that believes this could be a case of if push comes to shove, Iwaizumi might just happen to have the most unexpected singing. He can only imagine this in his wildest fantasies. He’d be swept off his feet.

Iwaizumi had spent so long picking out the song, too. And it’s a nice song. Slow and melodic. And the glow of the lights are perfect. Oikawa doesn’t want to let it all go to waste. He would sing himself if he knew the melody.

“Stage fright?” He leans a little into Iwaizumi’s leg, causing Iwaizumi to flinch. “No need. I won’t judge,” Oikawa promises. He’s serious. Things won’t change between them no matter what he sounds like. They’re just two guys doing some karaoke together on this one random night.

Iwaizumi suddenly gets up, and Oikawa perks up.

“I need some air,” Iwaizumi says. Then he bolts out of the room.

“Eh?”

The door opens and closes. Oikawa is left confused.

He follows Iwaizumi out and down the hall, passing by the girl at reception—Momo-chan—and since Iwaizumi runs quickly by her without a second glance, Oikawa tells her they’ll be right back. They can keep their timer running.

They both emerge outside for fresh air and Iwaizumi walks to the edge of the sidewalk. His hands are on his hips and he seems to be breathing hard.

“What’s wrong?” Oikawa frets, with a gentle hand that settles on Iwaizumi’s back. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to push. Karaoke’s not for everyone. You don’t really have to...”

Iwaizumi’s face doesn’t look extremely pale, just bewildered. His eyes are cast towards the ground, blinking a lot, but he’s actually breathing more normally than Oikawa initially thought. Somehow, the cast of his back had been more worrying when Oikawa was running after him and wondering at every step if he would have to catch his fall from behind.

Iwaizumi is an eerie sort of calm when he takes out something from his back pants pocket. He sticks it in his mouth. Then offers it to Oikawa. “Can you light this for me?”

Oikawa stares disgustingly at it between them. “Huh? Why me…” He doesn’t know if he’s much in a position to do something like this. The lighter is a sleek silver, shiny, and reflecting the artificial light around them. But somehow Oikawa doesn’t much care about that. It’s the principle of it. “I don’t condone this at all,” he remarks.

“Just this once. I’ll quit after this.”

Oikawa bursts out laughing at that, unable to really fathom why Iwaizumi would even say that. There was absolutely no heart in that statement at all, but maybe he’s been affording Iwaizumi too much. Oikawa takes the lighter begrudgingly. “You really do love lying to me.”

The lighter lights after too many too many unpracticed clicks of his finger, and Iwaizumi leans his head into it, cigarette between his fingers, holding Oikawa’s hand steady as if not trusting him to keep hold of it. I don’t know what you’re doing, Oikawa thinks naively while waiting for it to light. Iwaizumi’s face is so relaxed like there wasn’t a reason for them to come out here in the first place. It makes no sense. They’re standing out here on the sidewalk and their time inside meanwhile is running out. They still haven’t sung a single song.

The grip on Oikawa’s hand slips further and further down his wrist, strangely delicate, as if trying to feel for his pulse, rubbing there. Iwaizumi takes a puff of his cigarette, blowing it out in the other direction. It swirls around in the air as Oikawa leans away from it. Are you done? he thinks desperately. Iwaizumi breathes in, looking collected, as he does, unfairly, and Oikawa bites his lip. It’s all in slow motion that takes all of the time in the world. Iwaizumi comes forward until he’s carefully wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s waist.

“Guh?” That’s the unattractive sound of surprise that Oikawa emits as Iwaizumi tightens his embrace, hugging him firmly. Standing there speechless and unsure, Oikawa doesn’t know what’s come over him.

“My hand is shaking,” Iwaizumi tells him, leaning his forehead into Oikawa’s shoulder. “And my chest hurts.” Maybe it’s an attempt not to look at him. Oikawa is surprised. He has no idea what sort of Iwaizumi this Iwaizumi is.

He returns the embrace without even thinking, tilting his cheek to rest against Iwaizumi’s hair. “It’s because you love me,” he says with quiet distinction. But what’s funny is that he isn’t the least bit sure of himself when he says that. He laughs out loud to ease his own embarrassment, the rising burn, when Iwaizumi breathes in sharply through his teeth, and Oikawa’s shoulder starts to feel heavy. And then because the silence after that becomes a little too hard to manage, he doesn’t let it linger for too long. “Don’t kill me! You smoke too much, though.”

They stay like that for a while. So long, in fact, that they never do return to their karaoke room.

They part ways at the edge of the subway station, saying their farewells for the year, and by that time Iwaizumi has long finished his cigarette. He has this look on his face that Oikawa can't quite pin down. But they'll see each other again so it doesn't feel like goodbye. And maybe that's why Oikawa can never quite say a proper goodbye.

As Oikawa pulls himself away, he doesn't look back this time. He has a one track mind as he jogs down the stairs towards the platform, running through the open train doors. In his pocket, he fingers Iwaizumi’s lighter, likely nearly setting himself on fire with it, having regretfully forgotten to give it back.

-

Oikawa decides he doesn't want to do anything that costs them money anymore. There will be no more meetups and getting lost, no more literally paying for time.

It takes them a long while to hike up some rather steep stairs along the side of a hill, the likes of which could have been easily done by them in ten minutes if they were still back in high school. But with Oikawa having to rest every 20 stairs, it takes them well over an hour. After what feels like 10,000 steps later, Oikawa has a sudden burst of energy that takes him ahead.

“Huh. I thought it’d be prettier,” Oikawa says leaning against the railing at the far edge, looking out towards the wide clearing at the top. It’s a beautiful view of the city.

“What did you expect?” Iwaizumi huffs, just making it to his side. He loosens the tie around his neck before he suffocates. “You can’t see stars unless you go way out to the countryside. Tokyo has too many lights.” He lets his arms hang over the railing bar, feeling something come over himself at the view, of which Oikawa doesn’t pay any attention to despite its spectacularity.

“Ehhhhhh? Sendai, you could see some.” Oikawa pouts.

“Yeah, right.”

“I could see them! Little tiny ones. I have good vision. But you don’t, so you probably didn’t even know they were there.”

“Yes, I’m blind, okay.”

“Ahhhhh, but I’m still glad we came up here.” Oikawa leans back, arms braced against the railing, and closing his eyes, loving the ghost-like wind against his face. It’s thin and hardly there, but it’s blissful. “I needed a good stretch.”

“Your leg’s okay? Not hurting anywhere?” Iwaizumi asks with some concern.

“Nope! They’re a little sore, but the doctor said I should be doing some light walking everyday.”

“What constitutes as light walking?”

“Brisk speed, twenty minutes a day.”

Iwaizumi gives him a dead-eyed look. “We just hiked an hour up here. And it’s an hour back down.”

“Why do you always have to say such negative things?”

“Those are the facts!”

“But you say them so negatively.” Oikawa sticks his tongue at him, waving him off. “It’s fine. I’m in the healing stage.”

“Doesn’t the healing stage start immediately after your ligament is torn and your white blood cells are rushing there…?”

“Hgggh… there you go again with the negativity! I meant the rehabilitation stage.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t opt to say anything more. Whatever he says will either not get through and, or, make Oikawa so excited to prove him wrong that he does something even more stupid than hiking for an hour, in deranged retaliation. Oikawa is happy enough with what he’s accomplished today already in what he’ll describe as ‘a very productive hour with a very unproductive someone’ and Iwaizumi will have no room to say otherwise. He hangs his head and exhales, calling it a day.

“What’s with that huge sigh?”

“Huh?”

“You’re that tired?” Oikawa says grinning at him, poking at Iwaizumi’s arm next to him.

“Yeah, I’m _really_ tired. Usually at this time I’d be at home lying on the couch.”

Oikawa takes off laughing from the bar, hitting Iwaizumi’s shoulder teasingly with the back of his hand. “You’re such an old man, oh my god. How’ve you survived this long? I feel like a crow should’ve plucked you off the ground by now.”

Iwaizumi frowns unhappily, leaving the city view to follow after him. Semantics are semantics. The differences between which word means what don’t matter all that much to him in the end. Oikawa says he’s feeling fine with that stupid grin on his face, something that at first Iwaizumi couldn’t picture for the life of him when he was first told over text message. A million things had run through his head at the time. What time was it halfway around the world? How much money is enough money? Is there a lot of pain? Did it hurt a lot? Most importantly, he needed to know if what happened was an accident or not.

 _Iwa-chan… you’re so silly_.

None of Iwaizumi’s questions are ever answered, not even to this day, not even at his insistence. It's not about him at all. And he’d gotten unintentionally mad at Oikawa for that, even though he knew it wasn’t the time, for not taking things seriously enough. But Oikawa has always had a habit of saying and doing inane things that aren’t ever called for, at times that Iwaizumi always thinks are inappropriate. So if every so often he turns it around to get his point across, is that so bad of him? Can he not be selfish?

Sometimes, on lonely days and cold nights, he thinks if only he were a little sweeter with his words and the way he comes across, Oikawa wouldn’t have left those three long years ago, coming back only to visit during holidays and breaks—if that. Really, it’s more like whenever he feels like. And he doesn’t feel like it often enough.

He hadn’t realized how heavy Oikawa had gotten on his shoulders, piggybacking him down the hill now as the sun sets around them. After Oikawa complains that he’s somehow managed to twist his ankle horribly between the railing and the stone steps back down, Iwaizumi nearly kicks him so it’s true. He can feel Oikawa giggling maniacally against his back, having completely gotten his way.

“You really take me for a fool,” Iwaizumi grumbles, hiking up Oikawa’s legs under his arms.

“Not really,” Oikawa says back, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s shoulders and leaning in close to his cheek, so close that he could easily plant a kiss there if he wanted to. “Mmm… I’m just so tired.”

That’s not in dispute.

He’s jealous Oikawa gets to sit there with the nice view of trees and greenery they pass by. His skin is warm on Iwaizumi’s back. The sky darkens from navy to black and the stairs downwards go on and on seemingly forever. When it starts to get more treacherous, he prompts Oikawa to take his phone out and shine the flashlight towards the ground. It helps, but only a little. Now he worries the phone’s going to fall out of Oikawa’s hand, with the shaky way it hangs from his fingers. Don’t drop it. Don’t drop it.

A feeling tickles the back of his throat, too. He can’t smoke a cigarette right now with his hands full, and he has half a mind to get Oikawa to rummage around in his pockets and hold it out for him. But he wouldn’t like that much. Not only that but the thought of himself choking and throwing Oikawa’s limp body down the hill puts a stop to such a thought.

“Last year, you took my lighter,” Iwaizumi says, remembering this just now. He doesn't expect Oikawa to answer him. But he’d actually had to buy a new one.

“...I didn’t take it,” Oikawa says quietly, or perhaps sleepily.

“You know what I’m talking about, right? The night we went out for karaoke.” Although, it wasn’t really in the end.

“I know. I didn’t take it. You forgot it in my hand.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, though Oikawa can’t see it. There he goes again with the semantics like it makes any difference. The grip around Iwaizumi’s shoulders tightens, as if Oikawa’s still squeezing the thing in his hand.

“Well, it’s not like I could give it back to you. I was on the plane the next day,” Oikawa states.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I would’ve offered to meet up with you before my flight but it was a workday and I know you had work.”

“Okay, yeah—”

“And it’s not like I could mail it to you from Argentina. A tiny thing like that. They’d confiscate it for sure. They gave me such a hard time about it just getting through security. They kept saying I could buy another one once I landed, but I told them that I don’t even smoke. Which, in hindsight, was probably a bad thing to say because they kept me there for like an hour drilling me with question after question. Oh my god. They really thought I was some sort of terrorist. I thought that would be the end of my professional career in volleyball and they would bar me from traveling forever. I’d be blacklisted. All because I tried to bring a stupid lighter with me. Your stupid, dumb lighter.”

Iwaizumi laughs all the way down the hill with Oikawa protesting on his back. It’s so amusing to him. He has no idea why Oikawa would do such a thing. There’s nothing special about that lighter at all. He’d just wanted Oikawa to ‘fess up and admit it. That’s all he’d wanted.

“Well? Did you hand it over to them?” Iwaizumi says breathlessly as he hops down the last few stairs.

“Of course not,” Oikawa scoffs, holding onto Iwaizumi for dear life. He sounds like he’s about to say something else but then doesn’t.

So, what does that mean? Does Oikawa still have his lighter? Iwaizumi wonders.

The next challenge comes when they get back down to street level and Iwaizumi sets Oikawa down onto his feet so he can find his way back to his hotel for the night. He points in the direction of the nearest train station but he’s inclined to escort Oikawa there anyway after what happened last time. After taking just a single step, however, Oikawa immediately falls to the ground with a yelp, scraping up his palms in the process. 

Iwaizumi drops down beside him, fear-stricken. This was a bad idea. He just knew it. As it turns out, Oikawa’s megawatt smile is still there, as always, to calm him down saying he was just surprised, that’s all. His leg does hurt after all, and that’s news to Oikawa as much as it is to Iwaizumi.

They check into the nearest hotel not long after, after Oikawa shoots down numerous suggestions, pleads, that Iwaizumi take him to the hospital. That’s not what he needs right now, is what he says. Iwaizumi pretends like that makes even an iota of sense for now. Oikawa just wants to be tucked into a warm bed, safely and soundly, and he’ll deal with his luggage in the other hotel in the morning.

“I’ll leave after we get to the room,” Iwaizumi says as he hands over his credit card to the person at the reception desk. 

“Please stay?” Oikawa tugs at his sleeve, along with his puppy eyes. It doesn’t take much to convince him.

“...Fine. You can have the bed then.”

“I do intend on taking part of the bed.”

When they get to the room, as expected there’s a single queen-sized bed and a cloth armchair that Iwaizumi makes a beeline for because his back is sore and his muscles are aching. But despite his injuries Oikawa grabs him by the scruff of the collar before he can get anywhere, and he’s pulled down to the bed with Oikawa. The edge of the blanket is dragged over him turning him into a cocoon, and Oikawa lays on top of it on top of him so that he can’t move, not if he doesn’t want to do more damage to Oikawa’s leg. All he can do is blink as Oikawa’s good knee digs surreptitiously into his side. He doesn't seem to be hurting as much now, or maybe he's enduring it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Oikawa has a scary glint in his eye.

“I said you could take the bed,” Iwaizumi muffles through the blanket, looking anywhere but forward. Oikawa is too close.

“Come on. You’re killing me here.”

Speaking of things that are probably going to kill Oikawa before they kill Iwaizumi: “I want to smoke.” Iwaizumi’s voice sounds so small when he says that.

Oikawa gives him a look, one that hurts. He’s actually quit for awhile now but Oikawa doesn’t know that. The stress has really built up tonight, with everything that’s happened. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last the night without a break that’s why he’d rather get it out of the way now.

“You’re being awfully shameless about your bad habit in front of me,” Oikawa says with a nasty smile. He’s like a wolf about to pounce on his prey. 

“I have a lot of stress,” Iwaizumi admits. It actually wouldn’t take much for him to quit. He needs something to occupy his mouth.

“Oh? So, all you need’s a stress reliever?”

His words are playful but his expression doesn’t match them. It’s so tiring. Iwaizumi really can’t take this right now. Oikawa has this look in his eyes as he stares down at Iwaizumi, droopy and erotic and needy, and mouth slightly parted. It’s starting to feel stuffy under the blanket. He needs air. Iwaizumi’s cheeks feel impossibly warm, like he’s about to explode out from his skin in a parade of fireworks, and he probably looks as embarrassingly red as he feels. “What’s gotten into you? You’re even more pushy than normal.”

The weight on his chest feels heavier and heavier on him. Iwaizumi wishes Oikawa would just take the bed for himself. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me…” Oikawa says distractedly, sitting up, still with his legs straddling either side of Iwaizumi. His fingertips drag down the front of the blanket, where Iwaizumi’s chest lies just underneath. “You know, it’s hard for me to come back to Japan sometimes. Because every time, I really hate leaving.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t say,” Oikawa snaps, exasperated. “You know? This is why we could never work out together. You’re too demanding, obviously. You never respond to any of my messages until something happens, like, oh, I tore something minor. It’s not a big deal. But then it’s suddenly talk talk talk talk. I said not to worry but you never listen to me! Your messages are so short. They're like one word answers, and that pisses me off. Also—can I just say something else? I don’t like light grey suits at all. Can’t you get a dark navy one? You make me cry on a daily basis with your choices. What… what are you pouting your lips at me for? You really want a smoke that bad? You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

Iwaizumi wiggles his arms out from the blanket cocoon, reaching up to pull Oikawa down roughly by the back of his neck, which makes him wince. Their faces are so close their noses brush, and Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, immediately bracing for impact. “If I kiss you, will you shut up?” Iwaizumi threatens.

Oikawa sniffs. Ah, shit. Iwaizumi's grasp on his neck loosens. There’s a little bit of wetness that gathers around Oikawa's eyelashes, and Iwaizumi realizes guiltily that Oikawa is crying. “You’re so rude. You don’t understand me at all.”

It's hard to think anymore. Somewhere between his pounding head and his racing heart, things have gotten so muddled. Iwaizumi presses the palms of his hands against his eyes. “I really don’t know. I honestly never know what to do with you. You have a seriously messed up personality, you know that? Always saying whatever you want. I wish you would think things through more. You’re halfway across the world in a foreign country when you can’t even find your way around Tokyo. You left me behind and I’m not supposed to worry?”

He often thinks about this beautiful Argentinian girl falling into Oikawa’s arms. Iwaizumi had gotten himself a normal job to make money while Oikawa followed his dream, and he thought that was enough for the two of them. There’s always been some part of him that wonders if this is it, if there isn’t anything else he can do. They’ve known each other for as long as they’ve been alive. And it’s always been Oikawa’s helplessly following after him.

They’ve always been a pair. But Iwaizumi doesn’t know when exactly he started thinking of himself as inexplicably dull compared to Oikawa’s sheen. Maybe they weren’t meant to live peacefully, living ordinary lives together, day by day. There will always be a constant rift between them, either pulling them apart at the seams or pushing them together to the point of cataclysm. They can’t agree on whether they should stay together or be apart, and the incongruence is slowly, slowly, killing them. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he can go on, if it should be like this for the rest of their lives.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Iwaizumi says.

“Hey,” Oikawa whispers, peeling Iwaizumi’s hands carefully off his face. Tears are still free flowing down his cheeks. His eyes are desperate. “If I kiss you... will you stop worrying about me so much?”

No, Iwaizumi thinks without a moment’s hesitation. _No_. But he doesn’t dare to say that out loud. Because it wouldn’t matter either way, because it’s Oikawa, and because worry is the only that Iwaizumi does right after spending a lifetime with the most worrisome person he knows.

So, instead he merely nods, very minutely, because time really does heal all wounds.

Oikawa dips his head to kiss him softly, trailing his fingertips along Iwaizumi’s arm until he’s interlaced their hands together. Their lips are sensitive and move together unhurriedly. Oikawa’s are so very gentle and uncharacteristic. Those pretty, delicate eyelashes. The warm breaths. This sinful touch. Iwaizumi can’t get enough of it.

He tries to move out of the blanket so he can get closer to Oikawa, pulling him down more by the back of his neck, holding him steady, kissing him deeper, savouring this. A hand caresses Oikawa’s cheek, the hand that’s not clutching him so sweetly.

And when all is said and done with, Iwaizumi will bring their interlocking hands to his lips, leaving a peck on the inner part of Oikawa’s palm, wishing for the scratches left there to heal quickly. But Oikawa will become flustered and impatient, unwilling to let Iwaizumi linger on a part of him that he finds too shameful. So, Oikawa will kiss him again.

In some far away fantasy, they do things like this more often and it feels real. They're not forced or categorized or just barely kept alive on the brink of disappearing forever. They're not special nor secretive nor conditional. But regardless—things seem like they're going to be okay when Oikawa smiles a grateful, hopeful smile against his lips. And Iwaizumi will always love that smile, and all of him, all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> then they become boyfriends, they live in an apartment together in tokyo, and maybe iwaizumi doesn't die of lung cancer


End file.
